


Nowhere Together

by Princess_Piggles



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Insanity, Murder, Necrophilia, Poisoning, Suicide, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25857178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Piggles/pseuds/Princess_Piggles
Summary: Nagito poisons him and Junko and spends the time after she's dead, while waiting to die, trying to fuck her, and rambling. This is a very, very dark story that I don't recommend anyone read.
Relationships: Enoshima Junko/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	Nowhere Together

**Author's Note:**

> "Look away, look away,   
> look away, look away,   
> this [fic] will wreck your evening, your whole life, and your day.   
> Every single [word is filled with] nothing but dismay,  
> So look away, look away  
> look away."

Junko knew Nagito was looking at her too often while they ate dinner, but she hadn’t put together why by the time she started feeling dizzy. “Wha-?” she asked, trying to keep his face in focus, “What did you do?” 

Nagito’s eyes swirled just as much as her vision was and he grinned, “It finally worked! Junko, it finally worked! You drank all the poison and you’re getting sick! We’re gonna die!” He took a small bottle from under the table and downed the rest of the contents. 

Her boyfriend made regular attempts on her life, it was part of the reason she had so much fun with him. He’d thrown them both off of a roof, gotten them stranded at sea with defective life jackets, and once locked them in a room with a hive full of angry asian giant hornets, just to name a few of the more colorful examples. But it’d been a month or two since he’d seemed to try anything and while she rode the exhilarating rush of despair, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen this coming. 

“Na-nagito,” she choked out, finding it difficult to force her mouth into the right shape, as her face was going numb. “Finally.” 

He pushed the table back, tilting it a bit and spilling rice everywhere, then pulled her into his arms, “You’ve got a head start, but don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” he laughed, “There’s so much hope for the world if we’re not in it.” 

Junko relaxed, leaning her head back against his shoulder, barely cognizant of how terribly uncomfortable it was to have her skull rest against his bony clavicle. They’d been dying slowly anyway and she was so grateful to have it over with, and because of him instead. “-never have b-been born at all,” she mumbled. 

“That’s right. You’re just a despair virus,” Nagito ran his hand through her hair, “And I’m worthless trash. We never should have been born at all.” He smiled, nearly ecstatic at the idea of the impending peace. “I fixed it, Junko, don’t worry. I fixed it. I finally fixed it.” He kissed her cheek, “It’s so disgusting to touch you. I hate you.” 

Junko forced her eyes open, swirling black fogging the edges of her visual field, “-love me.” 

“That’s your fault,” Nagito supplied the expected answer, one of their more familiar patterns. 

“That’s the best part,” she allowed her eyes to fall shut and lightly swatted for his hand, enclosing it in hers once she found it. Her thoughts were cloudy and floating, but there were a few ideas that stood out in clarity. Nagito had managed to kill her, one of the people that loved her the most had managed to kill her, and it had taken way too long. She had lived way longer than anybody wanted, especially her. The rich despair of being part of a senseless murder suicide was exquisite. Her chest clenched and she coughed, stomach acid burning her throat. 

A last smile touched her lips and she squeezed his hand, “I-,” she could barely get enough air, “I need to tell you s-some-something,” she gasped, reaching to clutch at her chest, then relaxed, letting herself fade from consciousness in his arms. 

Nagito had leaned down to hear what she wanted to say and when it became clear that nothing else was coming, he threw his head back and cackled, breathy laughter bouncing crazily off the walls. That was so like her. He couldn’t know if she’d actually meant to say anything or not, it was too late. Her last act was bringing him one more spiral of despair. 

He cupped her face in his hand, then trailed the fingers down to check her pulse. Too weak for her to wake up and fading fast. “Junko, Junko, Junko…” he mumbled her name, shifting to lie her down on the floor. 

He straddled her hips, looking down at her now innocent face. “My virus. My despair virus. You infected me, you know. This is all your fault.” He leaned down and kissed her unresponsive lips. He was able to pull her mouth open to push his tongue inside, but the lack of resistance and motion made the kiss altogether bizarre. 

Nagito reached down and unbuttoned her shirt, uncertain about his own motives. He unclasped her bra, glad it was a front clasping one. The poison was beginning to mess up his already shaky coordination. He squeezed her breasts, admiring the utter lack of contrast between her deathly pallor and his own sick complexion. 

“It’s over,” he sighed, “Finally. I don’t even like this part, but it’ll be the last time. Last time…” 

He reached up her skirt and slid her panties down her legs, tossing them to the side and pulling her legs apart. His hands trembled and he found unbuttoning his pants incredibly difficult. He eventually pushed them down enough to line his cock up with her vagina and pushed inside breathlessly. He let his full weight rest on her, no longer needing to allow her space to breathe. 

“I don’t know if I can cum, I don’t think I have time,” he laughed, “I’m sick, so it’s gonna be faster. I want to die inside you anyway. I always wanted to. I want to spread your ribs and sleep against your heart. You were the only home for someone like me…” He reached for her arms, and pulled them around him, a limp puppet embrace. 

He thrust in and out, fighting to keep his breath. “You’re getting cold, or I am, or both,” he panted, “I’m dizzy. This is getting too hard.”

He laid his head against her breast and drifted there. “I don’t think I can keep moving,” he mumbled, “And I’m soft anyway. That’s okay, I always hated this part. I hated you so much. I loved you so much. We’re so perfect together. I hope we’re nowhere, but let’s be nowhere together.” He coughed, blood marring her pale skin. “Please don’t let there be an afterlife. I jus’ wanna be with you.” 

It was too much effort to keep talking, so, for once, he stopped. Memories danced in front of his eyes. Meeting her, knowing that she was the worst thing he’d ever seen, even worse than himself, holding her hand and talking at length about their mutual death, dodging grenades she’d bought and countering with ridiculous homemade bombs that made her laugh about how he couldn’t prepare a simple recipe, but he could build those. Lying together at night, dreaming of dying. His last coherent thought before succumbing was the repeated wish to be nowhere, but also with her.


End file.
